


Crosswind

by qualamity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - High Fantasy, Canes, Handfeeding, M/M, Psychological Torture, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, baths, elements of non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 20:30:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16002722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qualamity/pseuds/qualamity
Summary: In the dungeons of the palace, Harry meets an interrogation specialist whose form of torture is like none he has ever experienced and may be the one to break him.





	Crosswind

When Harry had imagined the dungeons, he had thought they would be dark, cold, and wet. Rats would scurry across the cells, looking for food and eating the prisoners, who would be held down by chains and weights, unable to escape the hundreds of tiny teeth gnawing into the meaty flesh. 

Perhaps because the law dictated all prisoners were to be given equal treatment regardless of status and the exile had recently been charged with treason and was languishing in a cell, Harry had a dry, warm cell with a cot against the wall and a chamber pot cleaned out thrice a day. Torches along the walls illuminated the cells, casting a warm glow over the prison but not so much so that the prisoners could not sleep. It was, all in all, a rather comfortable place to live. 

If only he were here willingly. 

Five days had passed since Harry first woken up in this cell, tucked under a warm green blanket. Someone had changed him when he had been unconscious, taking away all his weapons, even the lock picks he had very carefully hidden in the hems. Not that they would have helped him escape; three enormous deadbolts locked the cell’s door from the outside, and he needed a different set of tools to pick these. 

Did they expect that the long wait would make him talk when they finally sent their torturers in? If so, they had another thing coming. He had been trained to be patient, waiting weeks at a time for a target to show up in places much worse than this cell.

The sound of a door opening and closing echoed through the dungeons. Harry rolled onto his side to stare out the bars of the cell door, trying to see who had entered. It was too early for the guard shift change and too late for a servant to bring a meal for the prisoners. Footsteps sounded through the dungeons, growing louder and louder until a man stood at the door of Harry’s cell. 

He opened the deadbolts and stepped inside. “My name is Tom Riddle. I am an interrogation specialist for the crown.” 

He waited a beat, but Harry didn’t introduce himself; Harry knew better than to start talking to one of the people trained to break recalcitrant prisoners. First, it would be only mild questions requiring harmless answers, and then the prisoner would find himself blurting out everything. No, Harry was not about to tell this man anything, not even the colour of the sky. 

The man ran his eyes over Harry, curled up on the cot under the blanket. Harry thought that Tom would drag him out, perhaps by his hair, to the torture room, but instead, he scooped Harry up with the blanket and carried him out of the cell as though Harry weighed nothing at all. 

Harry thought about struggling, making his escape here. But there were the four guards at the entrance, and even if Harry could escape Tom, he would not be able to take on four men while he remained unarmed. Harry laid pliantly in Tom’s arms and watched him go into another room. This one looked more like the room Harry had expected, with whips, floggers, and canes hanging from the walls, whipping posts stationed at various places around the room, and other things Harry didn’t even know the name of.

Tom set Harry on a wooden table, cold to the touch, and buckled Harry’s wrists and ankles into the leather cuffs attached to the table. He folded Harry’s blanket and set it on a chair to the side. “It’s so refreshing to have a subject cooperate with me. Will you make my job easy and tell me who hired you?” 

Harry stayed silent. 

Tom smiled and cupped Harry’s face. “That’s okay. This is my favourite part of my job.” And then he went to the wall and came back with a cane.

Harry instinctively tried to curl in, protect himself from damage to his organs, but the cuffs holding him to the table held firm. He tensed as he watched Tom circle him with the cane. Where was he going to strike? When was he going to strike? 

The sound of the cane cutting through the air made Harry flinch, but no strike landed against his body. A moment of silence. Then, out of nowhere, the cane cut through the air and landed against Harry’s upper thighs. Harry flinched again and tried to pull away before his brain registered that it had been nothing but a light tap, barely felt through his breeches. 

Tom moved the cane, running it along Harry’s body. He nudged Harry’s chest, pressed it against Harry’s throat just enough to make it hard to swallow, and then moved back down to trace Harry’s abdomen. 

What kind of torture was this? 

Tom withdrew the cane. “You came to the palace seeking employment six months ago. That’s quite a long wait time for a hit. And a near success too.” 

If only the guard hadn’t decided to use the thrice-cursed chamber pot.

“I think it must be either the Lions or the Snakes,” Tom said conversationally, almost to himself. The Lions and Snakes were two different mercenary guilds, employing some of the best killers of the realm. “They’re the ones who expect their assassins to go through anti-interrogation training after all.” 

Harry didn’t say anything, but that was enough of a confirmation for Tom. Most people felt a need to proclaim innocence or break and tell their version of the story when faced with an interrogation. Harry had broken at first too. Then, he had grown used to the feeling of almost being drowned or beaten within an inch of his life. But this, this was new. Harry had a feeling Tom would break him. After all, Harry had never been trained to resist kindness, and even the strongest would eventually yield to a kind word.

“Tell me which one,” Tom coaxed. “These are records I can get with enough time. Save me time, and I’ll give you a reward.” He ran his free hand through Harry’s hair, petting him. “Tell me.” 

Still, Harry said nothing. 

Tom sighed, as though Harry had gravely disappointed him. Harry thought that Tom would hit him with the cane, actually hit him this time, but all he did was uncuff Harry and take him back to the cell, tucking the blanket around him again.

Another five days passed. And then another five. Tom came back on the tenth day. This time, when Tom entered his cell, Harry stood to meet him, meeting his eyes.

Tom smiled. “Still not going to try to run? Come along, then.” He wrapped an arm around Harry’s waist, pulling him close and guiding him back to the interrogation room. This time, there was a large wooden bath filled with lightly steaming water. 

Drowning then. Had Tom given up with kindness At least it would be a familiar fate. 

However, Tom stepped away from Harry and nodded at the bath. “I thought you would enjoy a chance to wash up.” 

Harry stripped out of the shirt, breeches, and underclothes, not because he wanted to be forced underwater but because he would rather not vomit on the only set of slightly clean clothes he had. He stepped into the water. It was a few degrees too hot to be considered comfortable, just the way Harry liked it. He slid down until he sat comfortably in the bath.

“Wet your hair,” Tom ordered. 

This was it. Harry would lower his head into the water and Tom would hold him down until Harry’s lungs burned. Even after all this time, Harry still hated the feeling of water around his face, hands forcing him to stay in place. He stared at the clear water and forced himself to take a deep breath – even knowing that this only prolonged the torture – and submerged his head.

Seconds passed, but no hands touched him. Harry surfaced, confused, and looked around from Tom. The man sat behind Harry, holding soap in his hand. “What are you doing?” he asked, forgetting his refusal to never speak. His voice was raspy from disuse and it hurt to talk. 

Tom smiled. “Giving you a bath. Sit back.” 

Hesitantly, Harry leaned back. Hands carded through his hair, massaging his scalp and stroking the strands gentler than Harry would have done himself. It was…nice. When the strands were white with soap suds, Tom walked around and washed his hands clean of soap in the bath water. He handed Harry a bar of soap. “Clean yourself. You have thirty minutes.” And then the confusing bastard _left the room._

Harry didn’t have a timepiece to measure thirty minutes, so he hurriedly scrubbed the sweat off his skin and soap from his hair, revelling in the feeling of being _clean_. Done, Harry glanced at the closed door. Would it really be so bad for him to relax in the bath for a short while? He slumped down against the walls of the bath and let the tension leave his limbs for the first time in months. 

The door opened suddenly, making Harry jump. Tom came in with a new set of clothes and a towel. “Up,” he commanded. 

Harry stood. He didn’t even have time to shiver from the feeling of cold air against wet skin before Tom wrapped him up in the fluffy towel and helped him step out of the tub. 

“Lions or Snakes?” Tom whispered against Harry’s ear as he patted Harry’s body dry. 

“L—” Harry bit his tongue to stop the instinctive answer, but it was too late.

“Good. Very good.” Tom dressed Harry and returned him to his cell.

Harry thought that this was the end, but them Tom came back with a plate of food: chicken and potato in a brown sauce and carrots and peas on the side instead of the usual bread and gruel prisoners were served. Tom settled on the cot next to Harry and lifted a forkful to Harry’s mouth, and Harry ate. 

“Good behaviour is rewarded,” Tom murmured when the plate was empty and walked out of the cell.

Another five days passed before Harry found himself in the torture room again, tied to one of the whipping posts this time. Now that Tom had the answer he wanted to his first question, he moved on to the next. “Where did you meet the person who hired you to assassinate the prince?” 

Harry didn’t say anything.

“Are we back to this again? Disappointing.” 

Harry flinched from both the coldness in Tom’s voice and the hands reaching over his head to undo the bindings holding him to the whipping post.

“Aren’t you going to hit me?” Harry demanded. Why wouldn’t this man do anything that made sense? 

“You don’t deserve a reward.” In what world was being hit with an implement a reward? Maybe Tom hoped to break him from sheer confusion.

Tom dumped Harry back in the cell and Harry laid there for another ten days, trying to make sense of what his life had turned into and, for some reason he couldn’t understand, wishing Tom would just come and talk to him.

“In Ciliaris,” Harry said in a rush when Tom unlocked the door. “It’s a town about five days ride from the capital. There is a river from which the villagers catch fish. I met him under a large apple tree.”

Tom stilled. “I know the town you speak of. When?”

“A month before I came to the palace.” Guessing Tom’s next question, Harry added, “I do not know who he was, only that he was a wizard and he disguised his face such that I cannot remember it.” 

“Would you recognize his voice?”

Harry nodded. 

“You’ve been very good for me. What would you like for your reward?”

“A kiss,” Harry blurted out. 

For the first time, Tom looked surprised. But he pressed his lips to Harry’s forehead and then laughed at Harry’s scowl. “Did the Lions not teach you to be specific?” he teased. Still, he pressed his lips to Harry’s in a chaste kiss and walked out of the cell, leaving Harry wanting. 

The next day, he heard the dungeon door open at a strange time again. Harry hadn’t expected Tom to be back until the usual five days later, and he moved to the door of his cell, trying to see. 

“He’s being rather recalcitrant, Highness,” Tom said, and Harry could hear the smile in his voice. “The ones I like best as you know. Would you like to come and observe?” 

“No, no, I have no taste for violence,” a terrifyingly familiar voice said with a laugh. “I’ll leave you to it then.” 

“By your leave, Highness.” The dungeon door shut again and Tom’s footsteps approached Harry’s cell. “That was him then?” Tom said when he opened the cell, seeing Harry’s confusion. 

“Yes. I don’t understand.” 

Tom carded a hand through Harry’s hair and pressed his lips to Harry’s once more, longer this time for Harry to enjoy. “You’ve been very helpful,” Tom murmured against Harry’s lips, “but right now, you need to pretend that you haven’t said anything. Yell at me when I leave your cell.” 

Still confused – he seemed to be in a permanent state of confusion these days – Harry screamed obscenities at Tom’s retreating back. “You coward! You good for nothing piece of cow dung! You’re going to rot in a grave when I cut your throat! I’m going to cut out your organs and you’ll be conscious when I do it. I’ll make you watch as I remove your intestines and you’ll eat them out of my hands.”

The dungeon door slammed shut, and Harry fell silent once more, waiting for Tom to come back. Five days passed. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. Harry wondered if he had done something wrong, if he had said too much, obeyed Tom’s orders too well. 

Finally, after a month alone in the dungeons, Tom appeared. He looked less than immaculate for once, with wrinkles on his shirt and breeches, dark circles under his eyes, and light scruff on his face from forgetting to shave. He opened the cell’s door and gestured for Harry to come out. 

Harry walked out of the cell and then out of the dungeon with Tom beside him. The guards nodded at Tom as they passed and didn’t stop Harry from leaving. “What’s happening?” Harry asked when they were alone and listened to Tom’s explanation.

In short, the exile – the prince’s younger brother – was going to be given the crown before he had been charged with treason, treason the prince had engendered by hiring assassins to murder himself and framing the exile who was no longer an exile for the crime. The exile had asked for all assassins still alive to be pardoned for the crime, for he knew what it was like to be tricked by the prince and then imprisoned.

“What happens to me then?” 

“You’re free.”

“Free to do what I want?” 

“Within reason. No more assassi—” Tom didn’t get a chance to finish the word before Harry kissed him this time. 

“I make no promises,” Harry whispered against Tom’s lips.

“You could join the royal army with your skills. Or you could be a servant again. Serve me.”

“From what I remember, it was more you serving me than me serving you.” Harry pulled back and stared at Tom. “Something has been bothering me that you could help me with.” 

Tom arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“You said something about how you would only strike me if I asked you. Why would anyone…” 

“Ask? I’ll show you.” Tom led Harry out of the palace and through the capital city until they reached a small house. Everything inside was what Harry would typically expect of a house, except the room he ended up in. 

It was a smaller version of the torture room, with various implements hung on the walls. “Strip and I’ll show you the secrets they teach interrogation specialists.” And he did. That night, Harry ended up collapsed on Tom’s bed, skin sweaty from pleasure rather than tension for once. 

Perhaps he would stay and learn who Tom was. Or maybe he would go back to the Lions and see how Tom would make him confess the jobs he would take.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://qualamity.tumblr.com/)!


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